


A Tale of Scarlet; Forbidden Fruit

by beauty_love_stardust



Series: A Tale of Scarlet Series [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Brother/Sister Incest, Consensual Underage Sex, Drabble, F/M, Incest, Incest Kink, Kissing, One Shot, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Short One Shot, Sibling Incest, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-06-30 14:51:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15753954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beauty_love_stardust/pseuds/beauty_love_stardust
Summary: I wonder what it's like to taste the forbidden fruit...Ginny witnesses a moment of passion, between two lovers. And she can't help but obsess, about one Brother in particular.Warning: This features underage sibling incest. If you can't handle mature themes, do no read!





	1. Part 1: A Defined Curiosity Sated

**Author's Note:**

> My plans for this work, is a simple one-shot. If enough people ask for it, I might expand, and add more. We shall see.

* * *

 

  _Part 1: A Defined Curiosity Sated._

 

 

 

 

> _There is a charm about the forbidden_
> 
> _that makes it unspeakably desirable._

 

 

 

* * *

 

I wondered what forbidden fruit tasted like. Would it be juicy? Sweet? Soft? Hard?

I wanted to know. I needed to know.

It started with his flaming red hair. Slightly darker than our siblings—even darker than mine. More auburn with hints of red. Then his body—taller, more slender than anyone else in our family. And his personality. Prickly. Sometimes snobbish.

But I know why he is so bossy. It isn’t for lack of kindness, or love. It’s the way it’s so easy to fall through the cracks in the burrow. So hard to gain authority with everyone chattering at once. Not the oldest brother—nor the youngest. He was somewhere caught in-between.

He fell through the cracks.

His hair had curls that no one else’s did. He was almost a breed all his own. An oddball of our family gene pool.

So smart. Brilliant school markings. And a work ethic well beyond any of us.

I could see him through rounded green eyes. I remember he had a keen eye for me. He would give me lectures, while hoisting me up to his level.

He would kiss my nose—then put me back down.

I was little. And he was bigger. Always towering over me. Perhaps I was easy to boss around. A target made by circumstance. Five years our ages differed. He would cuddle me in his embrace. Sometimes he would break rules for me. Steal an extra cookie from the jar. Throw me up in the air, as though I was lighter than a feather.

Others he would snap at me. Order me away, so he could focus on his studies. Or because I was ‘bothering’ him. He was a constant enigma.

I attributed that factor to my fascination with him. I found myself often, dazing—counting the freckles on his cheeks. So many freckles.

I would see his green eyes dart in a quick motion from his book reading; onto me. Just a flicker, and then the corners of his mouth would curve up—in a slight smile.

The twins played pranks on me, most. Planting spiders where I would find them. Coercing me into committing acts that would get me scolded. Percy would lecture them. But they only mocked him, and continued.

He would threaten to tell Mum. Only then would they shuffle away; plotting, and scheming their revenge on him.

He wouldn’t require gratitude. He would treat the act of rescuing me from their pranks as nothing more than business as usual.

He wouldn’t expect a hug. Nor a kiss.

He would walk away.

Leave me beaming with thankfulness; And go about his day.

It was his lips I dreamed of kissing. I blame a captured moment by my prying eyes. Flickers of red hair, tangled tongues together, making wet noises, Penelope with her back against the shed, moonlight shinning down; to glisten against her blonde streaks of hair. Toned thighs had been encircling his waist.

I saw his clothes rumpled, and his shirt open, as they kissed with abandoned.

My young eyes couldn’t understand then what I saw. But a boiling heat had pooled between my thighs.

Mum had asked me to find him. Dinner was soon—a rather late dinner. And they were meant to attend.

I peeked even as he banged her into the shed. Loud tinny noises breaking the nighttime silence. Overbearing even the crickets.

They made sweet sounds with parted lips. And moaned; groaned in unison. Then he stilled; she shuddered. And it was over.

He became my forbidden fruit.

I wanted to taste him.

Needed to know what he tasted like.

Was he sweet? Sour? I became obsessive. I wanted to know.

They had straightened their clothes, and I had pretended to only just appear. I saw green eyes flicker with nerves. He wondered if I saw—I gave nothing away in my gaze.

Curiously, I had explored my aching area later. Down between my thighs my hand slipped.

I prodded, poked, and rubbed. It felt good; but something was missing.

His hands.

I remembered how they gripped Penelope. Kept her against the shed so she’d not fall. He so strong; she so pliant.

I felt a stab of jealousy. I wanted to feel those hands on my waist. Holding me up as our tongues battled.

I couldn’t understand why I needed it. Only that I did.

I was ten; Percy was fifteen.

Surely he understood more than me.

How could I come to find more, where he swallowed me so deep. I wanted to become a victim to his gaze; to his touch. But I didn’t know how to broach the subject.

Could I ask? Would it be so easy as to coax him?

Just because I asked, did it mean he would provide?

I was his only sister. I was sheltered by Mum and Dad. Kept in the dark about trivialities behind closed doors. But an ache had awakened. Something incurable by my own hands.

They were not big, strong, muscled things. But small dainty, stemmed fingers. Nothing like a male’s hands.

Nothing like Percy’s.

He fought for his own bedroom. Complained to Mum that he was the oldest left in the home. Bill, and Charlie were gone.

He was the eldest—He deserved the best.

Our parents caved. They gave him Bill’s old room. He cleared it out—made it his own, and settled in.

I watched from behind a corner that summer. As he worked, sliding furniture, pushing it into the proper position to make him happy. I sat on the warm wooden floorboards. Curious eyes peaking up at him, from the hall. Through the open door of his new bedroom.

He regarded me with equally curious eyes when he saw me just outside.

But he didn’t ask—and I didn’t reveal a thing.

The heat returned between my thighs; a constant reminder of how badly I wanted a taste of him.

Plump red lips, they had swelled that night. Under Penelope’s firm kisses.

His muscled arms, flexed with every strain to move a piece of furniture. He was full of youth. Invigorated by the possibility of a new oasis away from our bustling; filled house.

No more twins pranking him. No more running into each other. He had a room to himself.

I had always had my own room. But I was a girl.

Mum and Dad thought it improper for me to share with the boys.

So I was alone. Cramped into the smallest room with the few things I owned.

Bill’s room was the second biggest. Percy won the lottery.

So much space for all of his things. I watched with envy as he finished moving furniture—and began the heavy task of organization.

“Why do you keep watching me?” I didn’t expect him to call me out.

I flushed with nervous embarrassment. Cheeks pink; fingers fumbling with my tank top.

I stared up at him with rounded eyes. He towered over me; lifted eyebrows, awaiting my response.

I gaped.

He waited.

“I just wanted to see.” It was lame. Hardly a reason.

He had to know by my scarlet cheeks. My stutter—I was lying.

I wanted more than just to ‘see’ I had seen enough with Penelope against the shed that night. I wanted to know more.

He shot me a puzzled, unconvinced stare, before returning to his organization.

He organized—I watched. Pulling up the nerve to ask.

To know.

It refused to come. And I scurried away, before he could ask me more questions of his own.

The summer air was thick, and hot. Sweat stuck to my skin as the sheets tangled around my legs. I kicked them off sometime in the early night.

There was a heat wave passing through. Over a hundred degrees for the next two days.

Sweat stuck uncomfortably everywhere—I felt itchy. Hot.

And worst of all, frustrated. My thighs stuck together, and when I rubbed them—I felt the uncomfortable ache that accompanied thoughts of Percy.

I coiled into a ball, only to wind up on my back. Eyes staring up at the ceiling. And I wondered about Percy. About his room.

I wanted him to pick me up in his arms. I wanted a kiss to my nose again. And that kiss to my nose—to be on my lips. I wanted the wet things to pair, and his hands to wander.

The thought alone made me squirm, and burst with sensation.

I kicked my sheets the rest of the way from my bed. And I stood. Letting my long hair stick to my neck; my thin, summer nightgown almost more than I could bear in this heat.

I didn’t have a chest for him to grab onto. To palm like he did Penelope’s. I was tiny. Stinted in my growth. And I hated it.

Pacing the floor. I thought.

Then decided.

I wanted to taste that forbidden fruit.

I padded down the hall. To his room. Pushed the door open; it was unlocked. I closed it behind myself.

Could I feign a night terror? I used to spend the night in his bed when I was little. He was warm; cozy. And despite his bossy tones; he always let me stay. Tucked under his arm; pulled taut to his chest. He was safety then. Comfort.

Could he be that again?

I crawled up onto his bed, feeling the scratchy sheets under my knees. He shifted.

He wore no shirt. Only his boxers; sheets bunched up at the end of his bed.

He too must have kicked them off.

I laid alongside of him. Hand resting on his bare chest. Listening to his breathing.

His heartbeat.

I wanted to tell him I had a night terror. I wanted to wake hm. Plead for comfort. But he was so peaceful—laying there.

His eyes cracked open regardless. Confusion darted in his features. Painting him in crimson.

“Ginny? What are you doing in here?”

I let my lips pout, my skin brimming with heat.

“A nightmare. Can I sleep with you?” He appeared conflicted.

Debating whether to let me stay. Listening to his conscience he nodded.

But not before chiding me for my childish behavior. “You’re far too old to be in my bed, Gin.”

My heart swirled with unspoken longing. He was soft; fingers rushing through my tendrils of hair. Mine was smooth; straight. His was curled, and easily tousled. I realized he meant to soothe me, and an image came to mind.

Those same long fingers, had been tracing through Penelope’s locks of hair. So much harsher the movement had been then.

I drew in closer. Our bodies were touching. All the way up, my leg lifted to slide over his thigh, lazily. He encircled me in his arms; kissed my forehead.

So close. He was so close.

I wanted to touch his lips. I wanted to feel him completely. And everywhere.

That tingle reignited between my thighs. I was spread, fabric of my gown riding up; pink knickers revealed just underneath. I wanted to beg.

I wanted to feel what Penelope had.

Tilting my chin I leaned close. My lips grazed his. I gave him a kiss.

Quick. Timid. I had kissed him before. It was a family kiss.

Retracting I darted my eyes to his. Searched for a reaction. His eyes had gone hard. As though struggling to work through a problem.

I wondered. I tried again.

Tilted my chin up, kissed him again. A soft skinned-hand cupped my cheek. His tongue pushed to my lips.  Dragged along the bottom, plump petal.

I opened my mouth, the way I saw Penelope do. He reciprocated, and pushed his tongue inside. Tasting me. Tangling our tongues. I whimpered.

He retracted. Understanding clear in his eyes. He came to terms with the kiss. Realized his mistake. I wasn’t Penelope. He knew, but I had reacted like her. Kissed him back. Learned quickly. I was always a fast physical learner. Never mentally, however.

“Gin.” I saw shame bustling to the surface. He struggled for words. For an apology. But his naturally bossy demeanor had  diminished. Leaving a timid soul behind.

“Teach me. I want to know…” The words sounded far away. For a moment I couldn’t grasp that I had spoken them at all.

More confusion; then understanding.

“You did see.” I knew what he referred to. And my head nodded.

He swallowed thick in his throat.

I wanted the feelings to subside. The pulsating yearning in my lower half. He could fix it. He had fixed Penelope.

“Christ.” The single word fell, but I didn’t let him think it through further.

Pink lips, met wet, swollen ones. He tangled our tongues, dragging up my gown. He wanted me closer. I could feel his impulses kicking in.

He was fresh, and raw with nerves. I was pulsing, curbed with needs. One firm, soft hand glided over my knickers. Rubbing the fabric between my lower petals. I whined. He cursed.

I rolled onto my back, he fit snuggly between my easily splayed thighs. He wanted to be rough. I could feel him holding back. He wasn’t gentle by nature. I had seen raw need. Not softness. Could I handle a rough touch?

I arced my back, up to his touch. He ground harder, and I whined. Something was building. He rubbed, palmed, pushed. I moaned. Ecstasy—pleasure—it pulsed through me. Beating my heart nearly through my ribcage. It was new. Exciting.

He knew where to touch, and I reacted.

“You can never tell.” I wouldn’t. So I nodded, my wordless promise.

This night would be ours.

I would taste my forbidden fruit. He would have his frustrations alleviated.

He was more docile when he had been with Penelope. I had seen it. His muscles less tensed. His snide comments kept at bay. He even was less bossy. Less snobbish.

There was no more words. They weren’t needed now.

He yanked off my gown. It cascaded to the floor, in a pool of dishevelment. I tugged on his boxers. If I was naked; bared—so then should he be.

I wasn’t expecting the part that sprang free. Erect. Pulsing where it rested on my pelvis. I hadn’t seen something so foreboding on a person before. I wasn’t permitted to see underneath my brother’s clothes.

He was different there. Where I had a slit, he had a hard piece of flesh. I regarded him with curious eyes. I touched him there. Little gasps escaped. Strangled things.

He pushed my hand away; I wiggled my hips. I remembered the bangs against the shed. How he trembled in the moonlight. He guided his hardness to the hole between my thighs. I understood then; what the bangs were.

He thrust inside. I tore—he groaned.

I felt wetness; was I bleeding? I stretched to accommodate the intrusion. He shushed me, planting his lips over mine. Letting me taste him. Calming me; soothing me.

He pushed, then pulled.

I groaned as the pain subsided, replaced instead with pleasurable bursts with each thrust. I understood the moans now.

I made them unintentionally. He tangled his fingers in my hair. I dug my nails into his shoulders.

He was quick; rough. He didn’t stay in; before he was retracting anew.

Friction worked to rile us both. He was quivering; I was trembling.

And just as quickly, I exploded again—So did he.

Warm wetness shot up inside me. Making me feel his warmth, as it pulsed in. Wet; hot. Something of his to remember him by.

He panted against my skin. Stole pleasant kisses from my lips.

I had tasted the forbidden fruit. It was sweet.

I was satiated.

_**For tonight.** _


	2. Part 2: Unbidden Bites of Sweet Destruction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I know I promised this would be a one-shot, but I found myself craving more of these two! Needing to know where they went, and whether they decided to truly cease after one time together, or continue their affair! I hope you enjoy this continuance as much as I did writing it! Tell me what you think! I love to hear feedback!_

* * *

 

 

_Part 2: Unbidden Bites of Sweet Destruction_

 

 

> _The time for reasoning is before_
> 
> _we have approached near enough_
> 
> _to the forbidden fruit to look at it_
> 
> _and admire it._

 

 

* * *

 

 

There is something about forbidden fruit. The temptation of it, is not always left satiated by one bite. One single little flicker of a taste.

No.

Eve may have devoured only a bite of a forbidden apple, but I realized one bite was not enough to satiate me.

Even though my eyes cracked open at dawn, where I still laid in my older brother’s bed. And I recalled the rapidly spawned heat from the night previous—he was gone.

No mop of curly hair greeted me with the sun. Just the crumpled, wrinkled sheets that he left behind. And his strong male scent. Almost smelling of pine trees.

I felt the absence of him in my heart. The knowledge that it was Penelope he preferred. Not an underdeveloped little sister.

I remembered every intimate detail. The press of him between my thighs, the bulge of his erection—his rough touch.

His rough love.

I ached, bruises had sported along my pale, pink thighs. My lower petals throbbed with the proof of our coupling. Sticky white stuff had dried between my legs.

Scarlet hair was ruffled as I sat up, finding comfort in his larger bed sheets. I wished he had stayed. Not gone.

Alas, I warmed myself in the shower. Hot beams spraying down upon me. Rinsing away the proof of the night. And come breakfast his eyes carefully avoided mine.

The gentle green preoccupied with breakfast scraps piled on his plate. Although I took a seat alongside of him—He never looked up.

Wounded stabs sparked through my heart. Reminding me that he’d promised one night.

He’d given me that—so why then was I so offended?

I remembered the kisses to my nose. The muscled arms that would hold me, play with me—and the snobbish voice that would attempt to teach me. Like a third parent.

He’d given me a mental image to work with. Taught me in the most intimate conceivable way. Now was he done?

Like when he rescues me from Fred, and George. When he simply turns away, is this another moment such as that?

I picked at breakfast. I wasn’t hungry.

My lips were still full, swollen from the proof of last night’s kisses. So were his.

The day continued, he cracked open one of his many books, read until the day was gone, and then kept to his room.

I listened outside of it. Wondering if I would ever be welcome again. Letting the absence of his care wash over me.

The yearning for his touch so prominent. So strong.

There was an ache, so adamantly placed against my skin. I felt the subtle traces of where his fingers had slid, leaving their imprint.

I wish I was more experienced. And could have left touches that seared the very make up of his skin as well. But I didn’t. I couldn’t have.

Days passed. He pretended I didn’t exist, and I searched for pleasure betwixt my thighs with my own dainty fingertips.

The soft padded things were no match for Percy’s. I could find pleasure, but not the kind I desired. Not what I found with him.

Disappointment settled under my skin as Penelope made another visit to the burrow. And I could feel the tension bustling within. Waiting to burst open.

He kissed her when she stepped in, and when they disappeared later in the evening, I knew where they were.

I followed.

Once again pushed against the side of Daddy’s shed he had her skirts bunched up. His prick free from its constraints, and her thick fingers were tangled in his curly hair. I decided to act when I felt my lower half twinge with urgency. And I bit down on my lower lip in order to stifle a groan. Sliding my fingers along my slit, I found the bundle of nerves Percy had pressed on before.

I jolted slightly, my emerald eyes planted on his straining form. Noticing his ruts growing harder. His tongue dragging along Penelope’s neck. He was teasing her. Making her his own.

But then. I froze.

His eye opened, and he peered directly at me. He knew I was hiding, just around the shed. My face peeking over at him. And he held eye contact with me, as he pushed into her. Her eyes were closed, as he dragged his lips back to hers. She had no idea I was touching myself. Feet away.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, my fingers sped up, and I saw him nearing his limit. Felt it in the air. And as he came, he howled.

His hand reaching up to press against the metal of the shed. Holding the position, as they both moaned. Drowning out my weaker sound as my bud pulsed waves of pleasure through me.

I rested. Just as they did. And Percy finally broke eye contact. His attention returning to Penelope, and I scampered away—back to the house before anyone noticed I was gone.

He didn’t confront me.

I feared he might. But he didn’t.

He pretended—once again—that I didn’t exist. That he hadn’t been inside of his girlfriend whilst holding eye contact with me. Had he been imagining it was me?

I was curious. I wanted to ask, but I didn’t.

He told me it was wrong. What we’d done. That was enough for me to keep my mouth shut. But I still wanted to go back to him.

I wanted it to be my entrance his male part sank into. Not hers.

I reminded myself I had no right to hold jealousy when he gave me what he promised.

But then I remembered his eyes. Those matching emerald eyes, as they paired with mine. As he spilled inside of Penelope with our eyes locked together.

I felt wet hot, heat building inside of me again. It was worse than the first time. Than the first night I went to him.

Penelope had gone home, but I could only think about Percy. His lips. Those kisses he gave her, identical to the ones he gave me.

Then there were his arms. So completely entwined around her. Keeping her level with the shed as he took her.

I felt stabs of jealousy. Stabs of frustration.

I felt the urge to go to him. The urge was just about to claim victorious—Then my bedroom door opened.

The night had settled in, and everyone was tucked into their beds. Sleeping.

I hoped.

Except me. And Percy.

He crossed the room. Made a quick stride to climb under the covers of my bed. And he didn’t speak. Just kissed me.

It was fierce. And I gave a startled gasp of surprise. Immediately bursts traveled to my lower petals. Pleasure, and yearning peppered throughout.

I whimpered. He dragged up my nightdress.

He was only in his boxers. And I felt suddenly aware of how badly I needed him.

Hardened buds poked up against the thin sheen of fabric, as his chest met mine. He wasn’t cautious like the first time.

He freed his length; Felt for my knickers. When he found none I saw his eyebrow quirk, but he only kissed me harder.

I shuddered. Then gasped as he pushed his length deep inside of me.

And a moan of relief muffled into his lips. Swallowed by his persistent kisses. He thrust with abandon, like some kind of animal. I wanted to draw him closer.

Needed to merge our bodies to make one. Because I knew the closeness could never be enough.

He made me a mess underneath him. Took from me—and gave.

Slid his hand down, circled my swollen bundle of nerves until I came undone around his manhood. Sending him over the edge with me.

Panting. Moaning. Whimpering.

We both came down from our highs. And I didn’t want to let him go. I was afraid to open my eyes. Afraid to see that he would disappear, but he was still there.

Fresh. Warm. Boiling hot.

His curly mop of hair, sticking up at odd angles on his head. He was flushed in the cheeks with scarlet coloring. I was probably matching him.

“Promise you won’t leave.” Wavering vocals filled the silent void.

His unreadable hues found purchase in mine. Searching. Analyzing for the proper answer. I could see the internal debate raging war inside of him.

He shouldn’t stay. But I am his little sister. He loves me. He needs me, too.

“I’ll stay.” Hoarse; his voice sounds scratchy, and I nuzzled him closer.

“You’ll be here when I wake?”

Another pause. Another unbearable break between us.

“I’ll be here.” Pulling from inside me, he laid next to me.

With his arm tucked around my middle, we both descended into satiated slumber.

True to his word, it was emerald green eyes I awoke to. And the warm hold of an arm entwined around my middle.

Protection was the first emotion I felt. Numbed. Humbled by his love, I smiled warmly.

Twinning my fingers in his curls, I was shyly silent, at first.

“You stayed.” I managed as I gathered my bearings.

“I promised I would.” He offered in complacency.

Lifting my chin I captured his lips. He returned the sentiment, quiet lust hiding behind those orbs.

And just like that—we couldn’t get enough.

Each night was much the same as the last. Finding comfort between the sheets, one of us seeking out the other. I found the days were lonely.

He would avoid me, sometimes Penelope would come to the burrow. He’d always take her behind the shed—I’d always watch.

Later that night he’d take from my flesh, more brutally than any other night.

He enjoyed the roughness he could bestow. Liked to bruise me. To leave me peppered with marks, each a reminder that I am his.

He especially enjoyed my inability to walk straight most mornings. And I often saw a thinly veiled smile cross those pink lips when such occurred.

I left my marks as well. Learning from the best. Biting his chest, scratching his sides. Pushing my fingers deep into his taut sides. Bruises like fingerprints left behind.

Summer neared its broiling end, and Penelope came around less, and less. Fights were had behind that old shed, when she recognized unfamiliar marks on him. My marks. She accused; he redirected, but they fell apart.

He blamed me the night he lost her. Punished me with harsh kisses, and thrusts so hard I felt myself tear for him. But I couldn’t regret this affair. Couldn’t live without him, now.

And he could not live without me. He admitted the truth in my arms, after. He would return from school—every holiday. Every summer, and we would be together.

And as I watched him board the Hogwarts express, alongside our brothers—I knew it would be a long wait until I had him again. In my arms.

My forbidden fruit.

 


End file.
